You who would seek Fire
mirrored in a thousand panes of empty glass
would scoff at my single spark
which is reflected in none.

You who would light your effigy
of the hottest brand thrust in your waters
to transmute to steam and iron
would forget that I too burn.

You who would be hailed
in an all-consuming scorching pyre
by an ancient theatre of rites
that worship the blaze --

You would not think 
of my hidden embers 
or the searing trials
of my darkest days.

But when the dream of 
the brightest flame
becomes as dead as ashes
and you seek only the warmth

I hope you will not think me cruel
When I do not share 
The light of my little candle.
For I have learned to cool it
in Wind alone